Those things now lost or never owned
Like memories of wings or our water’s sleep
Linger unobserved in peripheries of light;
Flitting like moths between vacant moments.
Until we half-remember a smothered dream
Of oceans and broad blown beaches;
That sprawl of endless nothings
Hinting of landscape without edge
And building without design.
It’s in here we exist, and with pebbles
That we search through time for forms,
And spin both labyrinth and twine.